


Quizzical

by StarlightAndFireflies



Series: Experiments in Alternates [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Humor, M/M, Molly and Greg ship Johnlock so hard, Professor John, Professor Sherlock, Romance, Shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 01:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14606193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightAndFireflies/pseuds/StarlightAndFireflies
Summary: Irene slid into the last empty seat at their table. "Alright," she crossed her arms. "Let's have it. Whichscholar-shipare you fixated on now?"AU where Molly, Greg, and their friends find themselves with a bit of an obsession... Their professors Holmes and Watsonmustbe together... but how to prove it?





	Quizzical

**Author's Note:**

> Visual aid: John has series 4 hair in this story mmmhmm ;)
> 
> Also I am not British, nor has this been Brit-picked, so the university they are at is more American style than English. So I guess it ending up being a combination of US colleges and Hogwarts in terms of workload/classes/exams.

“Hey, Greg!”

He looked up and waved in greeting. Molly Hooper had just entered the classroom, her flowery messenger bag swinging off her shoulder and a small smile on her face.

“Hey, Molly! How was your holiday?” he slid his chair over to give her more room as she took a seat next to him.

“Great, I got to see my cousins for the first time in ages,” she beamed. “Yours?”

“Pretty quiet, but a good time.”

She nodded, then glanced around the classroom. Only about half their fellow students had arrived, and their professor had not yet come in either. This was hardly a surprise, being the first day back after the spring holidays.

“So,” Molly leaned in. “No sign of Watson yet?”

“Not yet, why?” Greg asked. “Have you heard something new?”

“Actually," she grinned. “I saw right before I left campus…”

“You didn't text me?”

“I forgot until, like, right now,” she said, holding her hands up defensively. Then, she glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening.

Greg bent forward so their heads were together. He didn't know when he and Molly had become so obsessed with this, but he could hardly back down now.

He _had_ to know.

“Well go on,” he promoted. “Tell me.”

Molly bit her lip in excitement. “So, I was leaving the building. I'd had to stay behind to ask about that quiz we’ve got coming up, remember? So as I was heading down the hallway, guess who was heading the other way?”

“No,” Greg breathed.

“Mhmm, the man himself.”

“Heading here?”

“Yep,” Molly popped the ‘p,’ a little smirk on her face.

Greg glanced toward their professor's still-empty desk, pondering. “Well, it's-”

But at that moment, the classroom door swung open and their professor emerged.

John Watson's cheeks were slightly pink — the wind was unseasonably cold — but he looked as cheery as ever. He swept his greying blond back off his forehead (a move that made several girls and a couple boys exchange slightly besotted looks) and dropped his bag on the desk.

“Sorry I'm late, well, nearly,” he said. “I hope everyone's holiday was enjoyable.”

There was a general murmur of assent, then Molly piped up. “How was yours, professor?”

“Just fine, Miss Hooper, thank you,” he smiled, a movement that caused crinkles to appear at the corners of his eyes. He turned to his bag and began rummaging through it. “Now, I know it's the first day back, but there's still plenty of the Opium Wars to cover before our quiz next week. So, let's open to page 317…”

 

* * *

 

“Nah, I don't know about that,” Mike frowned.

“Oh, come on,” Greg said. “Mike, they're totally together!”

“Watson, gay?”

“Yes,” Molly and Greg said in unison.

“Well, maybe not gay,” Greg rushed to correct. “I'm thinking more likely bi.”

“What makes you think that?”

Molly gave Greg an exasperated look. “The way Watson looks at him.”

“And that time I went in for office hours and Watson was in there... sitting on the corner of his desk!” Janine added, grinning.

“That's hardly proof!” Mike sputtered.

Greg cleared his throat. “That, and I'm pretty good at guessing that sort of thing. 'Cause, you know…”

Molly blinked. “Because what?”

“I'm bi too,” Greg said.

There was a few second pause, in which everyone stared at him. He shifted, and glanced around, glad suddenly that they were sequestered in a private study room in the library, rather than in a restaurant or the uni cafeteria. Seriously, what had possessed him to say that, just out of the blue?

“I'm glad you told us, Greg,” Molly said quietly, placing her hand on his arm.

“Yeah, it's about time,” Janine said. “I've suspected for ages.”

“Alright, alright." Greg could feel himself blushing. “Can we get back on topic?”

“You weirdos talking about your pet obsession again?” another voice chipped in, and everyone looked around.

Irene Adler stood there in the doorway, looking flawless as usual. She smirked. “You need hobbies, my friends.”

“Irene!” Janine grinned. “Join us!”

She did, dropping into the last empty seat at their table. “Alright,” she crossed her arms, lips pursed in a half-amused, half-indifferent kind of way. “Let's have it. Which _scholar-ship_ are you fixated on now?”

“Now?” Molly frowned.

Janine rolled her eyes — probably at Irene’s pun — and nudged Irene in the side. “Okay, that was one time. And they were absolutely shagging, okay?”

“You never had proof!”

“They practically were having eye-sex in the cafeteria!”

“Erm, first—eww,” Greg cut in with a cough. “Second, is this really relevant?”

Janine shrugged. “Technically, no. But I dare any of you to bet against me. Donovan and Anderson _are_ shagging.”

“Okaaaaay,” Molly grimaced. “Anyway, Irene. Have you had any classes with Professor Holmes before?”

“Holmes, chemistry, right?” Irene smirked, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah, I had organic chem with him my first year of uni. Bloody stern bloke, but gorgeous. I failed a quiz, and that's when I figured out he's gay as a rainbow in springtime.”

“Told you,” Janine muttered to Mike.

He still looked unconvinced. “Just because Irene thinks so-”

“Hang on,” Irene held up a finger. “Who do you think Holmes is sleeping with?”

“John Watson,” Molly replied, eagerness saturating her bubbly tone. “You know him, right?”

“Of course,” Irene's teeth gleamed behind her scarlet lips. “Sexy history prof. Pretty fair with his marks but sadly pretty immune to my charms. He says he wants me to succeed on my own merit.” Her eye roll was so impressive it was nearly audible.

Greg found himself chuckling. “Irene, for someone who seems to deem it fit to remind us she's a lesbian every few minutes or so, you certainly bring up the hotness of the male professors a lot.”

Irene laughed. “Hey, I can admire, can't I? Just because I don’t plan to sample the wares doesn't mean I can't window-shop!”

“Anyway,” Molly laughed. “Irene, how did you figure out Holmes is gay by failing a quiz?”

“She flirted with him, Molls,” Janine murmured, leaning toward the other girl conspiratorially. “It's her thing. Whenever she needs something from a prof, she goes to their office and chats them up.”

“It doesn't always work,” she sighed. “Too many uptight boring teachers around here, too busy flipping through the latest academic journal to have any fun. However, some don't mind my... compliments-” Molly rolled her eyes a bit at this, though Janine and Mike smirked. “-and are willing to give me an extension or a few bonus points. But Holmes, well.”

“What?” Greg asked before he could stop himself. He didn't want to draw too much attention to himself after his unplanned self-outing, but knowledge about his and Molly's little investigation was too tempting to resist. Especially from a source so dialed in to the university gossip.

“Look, with this body,” Irene gestured to herself, in her rather form-fitting black top, with a proud raised eyebrow. “Anyone remotely interested in women notices me. Even those who don't usually notice that kind of thing. But Holmes? When I went to his office and turned on the charm, he didn't react at all like they usually do. He looked more... horrified than anything else.”

Molly giggled. “Really?”

Irene inclined her head. She seemed to be enjoying herself now, with a captive audience hanging on her every word. “He told me, all stammering — which isn't like him — that I was boring him and if I did an extra couple of lab assignments, he'd drop the test score at the end of term. Then he told me to get out.”

“Oh!” Molly exclaimed, her face lighting up. “And there was that time Holmes got into a debate with a couple of blokes about rugby. I mean, he doesn’t seem like the sort of man to be interested in sports, does he? But he knew all about the inter-faculty rugby match that had happened the weekend before…”

“And everyone knows Watson’s on the championship team,” Janine added. “Kind of suspect, don’t you think? Molly’s and my theory is Holmes was there to watch Watson. Specifically, Watson in the rugby uniform. And who could blame him?”

Greg slapped his hand down on the table and turned to Mike in triumph. “See? We told you!”

Mike held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I defer to your judgment, in both their cases. I just don't see where you think they're together…”

“Because it’s cute!” Molly said. “Greg and I saw them at an orientation thing our first year, like a week into classes.”

“Yeah,” he jumped in, grinning at the memory. “They were all giggly in the corner, even though they were supposed to be mingling.”

“Hmm.” Mike pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Okay. I don’t quite see it, but I haven’t had a class with them in over a year.”

“So you concede to our view?” Janine asked, triumph shining in her eyes.  
He sighed then gave a long-suffering smile. “Yeah, I concede.”

Everyone beamed and let out exclamations of victory. Then, however, Irene glanced at her watch and sighed.

“I gotta go,” she announced. “My TA is, like, the straightest person I've ever met. If she marks me late again, I bet I'll actually get points knocked off the next exam.”

She stood, swung her bag over her shoulder, and made to depart. At the last moment, however, she paused and looked back at Greg.

“By the way, Lestrade? I almost forgot to mention in the last few minutes... Remember, I'm a lesbian.” She winked and sashayed away, leaving laughter behind.

“What would we ever do without Irene?” Janine snickered.

“Have far fewer graphic images in our minds?” Greg suggested, which set Molly off into giggles again.

“You know, Janine,” Mike said. “We probably need to go too. We have lit class in five.”

“Ugh,” she moaned as she checked her phone. “You're right. Okay, see you two later. I've got World History with Watson tomorrow, so let's meet up and compare notes after.”

Greg understood she was not referring to notes on the actual subject, but on Watson's behaviour. He nodded, and she and Mike departed.

Molly glanced at him, seeming rather shy. It appeared neither had expected to be left alone so abruptly.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat, which had gone dry. “About what I said earlier... You wouldn't mind not spreading it around, right?”

“Of course I won't,” she said. She hesitated, then laid a hand on his arm. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks,” Greg blew out a breath. “I just hope it's safe with the others.”

“Janine is pretty discreet, and Mike is quiet. They won't out you.”

“And Irene? Janine will totally tell her.”

Molly bit her lip. “Well... she does like to gossip. But you've never done anything very scandalous.”

Greg groaned. “But she still will know!”

“Maybe ask her to keep it to herself next time you see her,” she suggested.

He sighed. “Guess I'll have to.”

They fell silent for a moment. Then, Molly smiled, squeezed his arm, and let go. “I'm glad you told me, even if it was kind of unplanned,” she murmured.

“Yeah. I'm not exactly in the closet or anything — my parents know and they're okay with it — but I don't want a big deal made of it, you know?”

“I get that,” Molly nodded. She straightened up. “So, I have Holmes later today. I'll text you if I notice anything of interest.”

Greg grinned and shook his head. “Molls, when did we become so obsessed with this? I mean, why does it matter to us? Their private lives don't affect us.”

“I know,” Molly said. “I just think it bloomed out of some silly off-hand joke one of us made first year and got out of control. But it would also be so cute and romantic if we're right, wouldn't it?”

“It would,” Greg smiled at the way her eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

She giggled. “We're so... sappy.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Though let's keep that a secret between us too.”

“Oh, Greg, it's much too late for that.”

 

* * *

 

When Molly arrived in the lab, Professor Holmes was — of course — already present. He barely glanced up when she entered.

“Alright, sir?” she said anyway. She was one of the few students willing to engage in small talk with him.

He did look up this time, and his pale eyes seemed especially green today. “Good afternoon, Hooper.”

“Can I help with anything, Professor?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. At the moment, he was standing over an array of tools and notes, none of which were organized from what Molly could tell.

“I suppose. Find the pipettes in the supply closet. Anderson never puts things away where they should be.”

Molly hurried to the supply closet and rummaged around. This being a shared laboratory space, professors usually had to use the same equipment, much to Holmes' ire and chagrin.

By the time Molly located the pipettes, the other students, only about a dozen in number, were filing in and setting out their belongings on the black lab tables. Molly handed Holmes the box and moved to sit next to her lab partner, a girl she'd probably only exchanged twenty words with the entire term thus far. She usually spent most of the lab texting under the table, leaving Molly to do the work, only chipping in on occasion.

Holmes called the class to order and explained the procedure. He pulled up a document on the board to further detail the assay.

“If anyone is moronic enough to sustain a chemical burn, let me know immediately. This is an unlikely scenario, but from the general performance I have seen from you so far, I would not be terribly surprised were you to manage it.”

Molly smirked. This was the third Holmes course she had taken since arriving at the small university, so she was accustomed to his blunt statements. She actually rather enjoyed them, for she understood that he was able to teach quite well. He could recognize when one method of explanation was not sufficient for a particular student and would adjust accordingly. It was almost uncanny, how well he could determine the best way of reaching someone. Molly had witnessed him explain nuclear transmutation through a rather convoluted metaphor based on a television show. Molly herself had not understood the metaphor at all, but it had led the confused student to nearly leading the class on the topic.

Of course, the teaching methods of even a brilliant man like Holmes only worked _most_ of the time. Some people, Molly knew, were not in university because they wanted to learn; some were there because their parents forced them, or for other less discernible reasons she had never been able to fathom. Nonetheless, there were some students who just did not want to learn, even after Holmes tried his special tactic to reach them.

But still — Molly could see. Holmes gave everyone a chance, some more reluctant people he gave second chances, but no one ever got a third. It was a well-established set of rules, strict perhaps, but it only made Molly respect her professor more.

She worked silently through the lab procedure, ignoring her partner whose nose was predictably buried in her phone.

Holmes walked by, eyeing Molly's lab table with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow. He glanced at the girl next to her and deftly plucked the phone out of her fingers.

“Oi!”

Holmes executed a spectacular eye roll. “You may have it back once you finish the lab. And I want you to move there.” He pointed to the front lab table, which was unoccupied.

“But-!” the girl spluttered. She looked at Molly with wide eyes, but Molly didn't move to defend her.

“Hooper has been getting along just fine this entire term without your input. Do not so stupid as to think I haven't observed you allowing her to do most of the work. Let's see how you fare on your own, shall we? After all, you’ve just enough of the term left to keep your grade from slipping to a fail.”

Grumbling obscenities under her breath, the girl swung her bag over her shoulder — it nudged Molly as she did so — and stormed to the front table and yanked her notebook out.

“Alright, Hooper?” Holmes asked in a quieter tone.

She felt more relieved than anything, but wasn't sure that was an entirely appropriate response. She settled for nodding. “Fine, sir.”

“If you prefer working with other students, you may join another pair,” Holmes continued. “But if you do not mind working alone, you may.”

“Oh, no, this is... fine,” she swallowed, feeling a slight flush blossom on her cheeks. “I'm almost finished anyway.”

Holmes nodded and moved away, but not before he eyed her notebook and gave her a rare smile.

She watched him go, heart hammering. But not for the reason one might think — yes, he had been scrutinizing her scientific procedure and data recording, and yes, he was rather a handsome man. But no, Molly's heart hammered because of what she had noticed.

Or as Holmes himself might say, observed.

 

* * *

 

Molly tried not to visibly vibrate with excitement, nor to stare too obviously, for the duration of the lab. She completed the assay, one of the first to do so, and scrawled the last notes and conclusion in her notebook before clearing up. Holmes accepted the proffered lab report with a nod and went back to assisting a confused looking boy. He did not appear to notice anything odd in her behaviour, fortunately.  

As she left the laboratory, she noticed the professor step away from the student and make his way to her former lab partner to examine her work. Molly watched as he began explaining something to her, and was surprised to see the girl's pout fade. She was actually listening. Maybe she would end up having an alright time in this lab after all.

But thoughts of assays and reports and phone-addicted lab partners flew out of Molly's mind as she exited the room. Her hand dropped to her pocket to tug out her own phone. She checked the time to make sure she wouldn't be interrupting a lecture, then called.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Greg, you will not believe what I saw today!”

“What?” Greg sounded tired, as one might expect on a Monday afternoon.

“Perk up, it's about Holmes.”

“ _What_?” That was more like it. She could practically sense him sitting up straighter. “Did you see him and Watson together or something?”

“Well... no, not exactly. But you have to admit, it's kind of suspect isn't it?”

“What is?”

She grinned, rather enjoyed this small but dramatic reveal. “A love bite on Holmes' neck.”

“...No.”

“Yes!”

“You're sure?!” She heard rustling in the background and imagined him sitting up on his bed. “It wasn't a burn or something? I mean, he _is_ a chemistry prof…”

“Oh, come on, Greg. It was on his neck, near his collarbone. Odd place to spill chemicals or have brush against a flame, isn't it?”

“True. But there's no way to know Watson left it.”

“What's with the devil's advocate act?” she laughed.

“I dunno, Molls,” he chuckled. “I'm just trying to see if you're sure.”

“I know what a love bite looks like, Greg Lestrade. And I know what a laboratory-caused burn looks like. Therefore, I know what I saw. And what I saw was a love bite.”

“Alright, alright,” Greg laughed. “You win. But like I said, you don't know who gave it to him.”

“Short of swabbing it for DNA, no,” Molly sighed. “And I had to pretend I didn't even see it. He leaned over to check my work on the assay and his shirt collar shifted. Oh, and he had it buttoned one more than usual.”

“Okay, if you hadn't already convinced me before, I definitely am now. Holmes always has two open.”

That set Molly off into a burst of giggles. “Why do we even know that?!”

“Because we're bored single people?”

“Maybe,” she agreed with a laugh. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about this. Oh, and Wednesday I'm definitely looking for one on Watson.”

“How? He always buttons up his shirts all the way.”

“Hmm, you're right... Well, the investigation will just have to continue another way then.”

“Guess so. We could always ask Watson, ‘hey, professor, do you happen to have a love bite we can examine? For science?’ ”

Molly giggled again. “Imagine the look on his face!”

They chuckled. Then, Greg sighed, sending a rush of static down the line. “I better go. I have a chapter to read for my morning class, and I haven't even started it yet.”

“Okay,” she said. “Talk to you tomorrow, Greg.”

 

* * *

 

Greg darted into Watson's class the following week, just a minute late.

“Sorry, professor,” he mouthed as he sat down.

Watson smiled reassuringly and went back to scrawling a page number on the board. However, there was a slight furrow in his brow as he looked away. That expression intimated to Greg that he was not in as pleasant a mood as usual. Still, he didn’t seem to be marking Greg late, so it was fine.

Molly nudged Greg's arm in greeting. He nudged back and smiled, then pulled out his book, notebook, and pencil.

They were still discussing the Opium Wars, but Greg found his focus drifting. He kept glancing at Professor Watson, watching for any sign, any indication that he might be in a secret relationship with a certain draconian chemistry professor.

Did it really make sense? Holmes was so strict, taciturn, and arrogant. The general consensus was that his classes were intense, but often not worth it. Many people hated him.

Meanwhile, Watson was amiable, charming, and humble. Pretty much everyone enjoyed his classes, and many willingly admitted — like Irene had — that he was one of the most attractive professors in the entire university. Of course, Holmes was handsome in his own way, but it seemed his personality put people off.

Greg finally shook his head slightly, focusing. _Geez, Greg, you’re in class_. He looked up to find Watson had pulled up a document on the board and was highlighting something with the cursor.

“Notice the due date,” Watson said, with the kind of smile only a professor in the midst of assigning a long, arduous essay would wear. “You have plenty of time, so if any of you would like to email me a rough draft so I can give you feedback, feel free. Also, my office hours are listed on the syllabus, so you can drop by to talk with me in person too. And don’t forget we have a quiz next week. I don’t like having two deadlines at once hanging over my students’ heads, but as the end of term is approaching, I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Professor,” Molly’s hand shot up. “What do you want our essays to be about?”

“Anything you’re interested in exploring, as long as it’s a topic within the time period we’ve covered.” Watson said. “Just email me your ideas, or run it by me after class. Any questions?”

Greg jotted down a few notes, sighing, as the rest of the class was taken up with questions about the essay. Twelve pages, bloody hell. As if he didn’t have enough assignments already, at this time of year.

Watson dismissed class five minutes later, and everyone left muttering and complaining about the essay. Molly was already babbling to Greg about her multiple essay ideas, and Greg did his best to pay attention.

But once again, his and Molly’s “pet obsession” distracted him.

As Watson slid his book into bag, his phone vibrated on the desk. Greg glanced down at it out of instinct, and almost walked straight into Molly ahead of him.

The name on the screen, from what he could see, started with S, and was several letters long.

Before he could read the full name, however, Watson sighed and snatched up the phone, silencing it and shoving it into his bag without a second glance.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure?” Molly asked outside on the lawn minutes later. “He really dodged a call from Holmes?”

“Well… mostly sure. And it might have been a text.”

“Why would he do that?” Her brow scrunched up, her mouth twisting in a moue of concern. “You don’t think they had a fight, do you?”

“Dunno,” Greg shrugged. “But if we’re right about them being together, and if I’m right about him ignoring that text, _and_ if I’m right about that text being from Holmes, then… yeah, they might have fought.”

She bit her lip. “I hope not. I think they’d be good together.”

“Me too. Hopefully we’re wrong, and it will all blow over. I mean, it’s a lot of if’s.”

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Molly strode into chemistry a few minutes before the start of class and was surprised to see Holmes had not yet arrived. She dropped her bag down and set up, tugging the microscope on the table close and adjusting its focus.

Her former lab partner approached tentatively. “Molly? Do you want a hand with the lab today?”

“Sure,” she nodded, startled but pleased. There was no sign of the girl’s phone in sight.

Bang. The door swung open and bounced back off the wall. Everyone in the room jumped and turned to find Professor Holmes swishing into the room, his dark coat billowing behind him.

“Phones away,” he barked. “Notebooks out.”

He tossed his coat down and bent over the teachers’ computer, signing on with rather aggressive keystrokes. Molly watched, frowning. He seemed especially irritable today; she wondered if it had anything at all to do with what Greg had seen — or thought he had seen — after Watson’s class earlier.

She was forced to focus, however, when Holmes launched into a snappish lecture, gesticulating and waving. The students buckled down and suffered through it, working through the lab with heads bent in attempts to hide from Holmes’ apparent foul mood.

Nearly an hour later, when she was nearly halfway through scrawling her conclusion, Molly risked a glance up. Holmes was sat behind his desk, staring intently at his phone. Again, this was unusual behaviour for the stern professor: his anti-phone policy was notoriously strict, and he always spent labs pacing between tables, answering questions and critiquing work.

Now, though, he tapped away on his phone, a rather perturbed expression on his face. Molly ducked her head back down, for fear of being noticed. When she finished writing, she looked back up. Holmes had stopped typing, and was now staring down at the dark, silent screen of his phone where it sat on his desk. The look on his face was now worried, and perhaps a bit… sad?

What was going on?

 

* * *

 

 _Ten days_ , Greg reflected. _Ten days of this_.

Ten days of Watson being serious, far less cheerful. It was subtle — he was still friendly and an engaging teacher — but Greg had noticed. When not actively teaching, his face fell into something resembling melancholy. And yet there was no sign of his phone, no more dodging messages. Perhaps there were no more messages coming in?

Molly and Greg were not sure, but with their essays due soon, they could not indulge in their investigation as much as before. Instead, their after-class theorizings had been replaced by research sessions in the library.

However, one day, ten days after Watson ignored that text, their investigation crashed back into their lives.

Several minutes before class, Molly and Greg were waiting outside the room with the rest of the students. The door was locked, which was unusual, but not the first time it had happened. Sometimes the professor who used the room before would bump the lock accidentally on  the way out.

“Locked again?” Watson asked, approaching the cluster of students.

Molly nodded, and Watson shook his head with a put-upon sigh, still good-natured despite the inconvenience.

“I’ll go get the key from the janitor,” he turned to head back up the corridor, but came face to face with Professor Holmes.

“Sherlock,” he said, sounding startled.

“May I speak with you?” Holmes asked without preamble.

Watson glanced back at the gathered students, blue eyes a bit wide. He turned back to Holmes, sweeping the wave of his hair smoother as if self-conscious. “No, I need to find-”

“A way in?” Holmes raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk on his face. “I can help with that.”

He brushed through the group, pulling a few thin strips of metal from a small case in his back pocket. Greg realized, when Holmes slipped them into the keyhole, that they were lockpicks. What was a chemistry professor doing with those?

Within a minute, the lock clicked and gave. A smug smile on his face, Holmes rose and opened the door. The students filed in, thanking him. Greg and Molly sat down at their usual table, which happened to be near the door.

And Greg’s breath caught in his chest when he realized Watson was lingering out in the corridor, whispering to Holmes.

“Now may we speak?”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“John-”

“Even if I wanted to talk about what happened, I can’t now. You’d better go.”

“John, please, I just want-”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Watson entered the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He sighed, something most of the class seemed not to notice.

“Alright, now that we’re actually inside, let’s open our books…”

 

* * *

 

“-no way their mood swings are a coincidence. The timing’s too perfect.”

“Agreed,” Molly said. “They’re both… different. Watson seems, I dunno, sadder. And Holmes is about ten times more willing to bite people’s heads off. He’s been awful in lab.”

“And the fact that we now know for sure that Holmes and Watson are on a first name basis…” Mike pointed out. Greg suppressed the urge to gloat that they had so successfully converted Mike into a believer.

“I know,” he said instead. “If I weren’t already pretty sure about them, I’d be way more convinced by that.”

“At the very least, they have some sort of past relationship,” Janine nodded.

“But it sounds like they’ve had a fight,” Molly said, biting her lip. Her elbows rested on the table on either side of her paper cup. Greg hoped she would not become too animated during this discussion, or he might end up with a lap full of hot tea.

“I wonder what about?” Mike mused.

The cafeteria was bustling, but not overly so at this time of day. The noise levels were sufficient, though, to cover their conversation from other ears.

“I bet,” Irene leaned in. “Holmes cheated on him.”

“Whoa,” Janine’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“It’s always cheating.”

“Not always!”

“Oh, come on! Why else would Watson be so upset?”

“It could be a lot of things,” Greg protested. “There are plenty of other reasons for couples to argue! Their interests being too different, their schedules not lining up, their families not getting along, not wanting to go public… Should I continue? Anyone wanna chip in?”

“Okay fine, but few other things would make one of them act like _that_ ,” Irene said. “From what you two told us, Watson’s hardcore icing him out. You don’t do that for something like uncooperative schedules.”

Greg shook his head. “There’s still no proof. And we’ll probably never know.”

“Aw, come on, Lestrade,” Irene rolled her eyes. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Of curiosity?”

“Maybe all this essay-writing and studying I’m having to do is draining my quizzical nature.”

“Okay, but the really intriguing question isn’t what Holmes did to make Watson so upset,” Janine cut in. “It’s why the actual hell Holmes has lockpicks.”

The conversation quickly devolved into the blurting of theories that only grew more absurd as time passed. (Perhaps the end of term stress and workloads were getting to them all, not just Greg.)

Mike suggested perhaps Holmes had been locked out of classrooms many times, and so had learned to pick locks in a fit of irritation. Everyone shut that down without hesitation, opting for something more exciting.

Molly speculated that Holmes had had a previous life as a detective. “They always pick locks to check suspects’ houses!” she said. “Well, at least on the telly…”

Janine bounced off that idea with one of her own — “He could be a thief! I could imagine him looking good in all black, stealing diamonds and rare art!”

Greg laughed. “Chemistry professor by day, jewel thief by night. Maybe he’s some sort of Robin Hood! Well, the kind you never hear of. He must be good at it.”

Irene, of course, was the one to take things up a notch. “No. I don’t see him as the crusading, robbing type. More like… secret service. MI6, or CIA maybe.”

“He would look good in a Bond suit,” Greg said without thinking.

Everyone giggled, though Molly looked like she was trying not to. Greg felt his collar grow hot. “Careful, Greg, your bi is showing.” Janine’s eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Oi, shut up,” he crossed his arms. “Seriously, I’d rather that not be common knowledge.”

“Oh,” Irene’s smile vanished. “Are you still in the closet? I’m sorry-”

“No,” he waved a hand. “Not exactly, just… I don’t know. You just always take it so lightly, your being gay. I’m just… not there yet.”

“Sorry, Greg,” Janine said seriously.

“No worries.” He felt his smile slowly returning. “But hey, even while you’re not spreading it around, if you happen to hear of anyone up for a date…”

They all chuckled again, and the conversation turned to other matters. Work, school, their weekend plans, and so on. This hour began to feel like their last free moment before returning to the pile of assignments looming over each of them. Greg was loath for it to end. But eventually, everyone began to filter away, heading to various destinations — most school-related — with grimaces and groans. Only Molly, fretting about her essay for Watson, stayed behind with Greg, who had nowhere in particular to be at the moment and was actively avoiding working on that same essay.

“Hey, Molls,” he said several minutes later, after listening to her summarise her paper in rather painstaking detail. “Don’t stress so much. You’re brilliant, and you always pass with flying colors.”

“But this counts for so much of our final grade,” Molly bit her lip.

“Okay, okay, Hermione,” he chuckled. “Go show the draft to Watson tomorrow in his office. Maybe his reassurances will count more than mine.”

She considered. “That’s a good idea.” She set down her now empty cup and slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I guess I’m off. I’d better polish the draft before I go see him.”

“Polish it,” he echoed with a shake of his head. “You say that as if it’s not already light years better than any of my writing.”

She shook her head, a light blush on her cheeks. “Shut up.”

He grinned. “See you later.”

“See you.”

She departed, her ponytail swinging from side to side, and Greg drank down the last dregs of his own tea. The traffic in the university cafeteria was picking up again, as it was nearing time for an early dinner. He’d better leave soon, before the noise level grew to such a high decibel level that he could not hear his own thoughts.

“Hey,” a voice said, startling him. He turned to find a boy his age standing a few feet away. “You were in Professor Hays’ literature class last term, weren’t you?”

Greg thought hard. It only took a moment for the memory to return to him — the only other male who spoke in the class, the others else half asleep or unwilling to speak up about the portrayal of women in literature. The boy had been bright, and often funny. Greg remembered more than once laughing under his breath at the analogies the boy would make in his analyses.

“Yeah, I was.” Greg nodded to the seat in front of him. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Colin,” he said. “You’re… Greg, right?”

“Yeah.”

Colin smiled, and Greg was suddenly struck by the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. And he found himself smiling back.

 

* * *

 

By the time Molly reached the top of the stairs, she felt humiliatingly winded. Lucky for her, the corridor was deserted so no one witnessed her laboured inhales. Four flights of stairs should not be so taxing, and yet…

After she caught her breath, she located the correct door. Room 221 in the Baker History building. She glanced down at the syllabus for Watson’s class. Yes, this was the right one. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, took a quick breath, then lifted her hand to knock on the closed door before her.

“Come in,” Watson’s voice called.

She entered to find her professor sat at a small desk in the back corner of the room. The rest of the space, with low slanting ceilings, was taken up by three other desks. None of the others were occupied at that time of the afternoon, but Molly could still imagine that when all were occupied, it was rather crowded.

At least Watson had a window, small as it was. It allowed a friendly, calm light to spill onto the surface of his desk. A small row of books was propped on the end of the desk against the wall, and a laptop sat plugged in next to them. Above these things, on the wall, hung a picture of skull. Molly didn’t have much time to wonder at why it might be there; it didn’t exactly seem like Watson’s style.

“Ah, Molly,” Watson smiled. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she smiled. “I was just hoping you’d take a look at my draft…”

“Of course, of course.” He gestured her forward. “Did you email it or upload it to the class page?”

“I emailed it, if that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” he smiled. “Take a seat. I’ll give it a quick read and we can talk about it. You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“Nope,” she said. “I’m done with classes for the day.”

He nodded as he signed on to his laptop. She took a seat in the chair at the end of his desk, dropping her bag onto the floor next to her. This was not the first time she had gone to a professor for advice on an assignment, so she knew what would follow — the awkward few minutes during which the professor would read the paper, and she would have to sit, trying not to fidget or stare at them too intensely. She never knew what to do with herself…

However, her discomfort quickly shifted to the backburner, as she caught sight of the image on Watson’s desktop in the instants before he opened his browser. But she could have sworn that was a photo of him and Holmes…

 _Great_ , she thought. _Now how am I going to sit still?_

Watson pulled up his email and opened her attachment. The next few minutes, he read, pausing now and then to question her about something or to comment on a point she could elaborate on further. Overall, his feedback was positive, and Molly felt her stress fade with every word he said.

“Well, Molly,” he sat back, scrolling back to the top of her paper. “I think you’ve got a strong essay there. Well researched, well thought out. I do think, though, it could use some restructuring. If you move your second point first, it makes the argument you’re making stronger, see? It flows better that way.”

He twiddled his mouse and moved the paragraph. She leaned forward and scanned it. “Oh,” she said. “You’re right!”

He chuckled, and she fought the urge to blush. She probably looked quite wide-eyed and — as Greg had said — Hermione-ish.

“And, actually…” Watson spun around in his chair, then stood. “I think I have an article here that would really help you. Might give you a new perspective too.”

“What is it?” Molly asked, eager. Watson made his way to the small, cramped bookshelf against the wall and started to flick through thin books. Academic journals, Molly suspected.

“It’s a paper on the role of women on the trade routes between Europe and Asia. It’s not _exactly_ connected to your particular topic, because it’s about the decades before the Opium Wars, but some of the points apply to what you’re saying. I think it might help your fourth paragraph especially. Ah ha!”

He pulled a journal out and flipped it open. “Here we are.” He handed it to her. “You can hold onto that until you turn in your paper.”

“Really?” She tore her gaze away from the article. “Thanks!”

He smiled. “I trust you.”

She was just about to thank him again when the door swung open. She and Watson both looked up and froze.

Professor Holmes stood there, eyes going wide when he took in Molly’s presence. His arm jerked behind his back, quite obviously concealing something, though Molly missed what it was. Something papery?

“Ah,” he said, sounding taken aback. “I did not realize you had a student.”

“Hello, Professor,” Molly blurted, well aware Watson still had not moved.

“Hooper,” Holmes nodded.

“Oh,” Watson’s voice sounded as if he had swallowed something large and sharp. “You know Molly?”

Holmes nodded. “She has taken several courses with me.”

Watson nodded but said nothing. Molly glanced back and forth between them. Holmes’s hand, she noticed, was resting on his bag at his side, as if concealing something that poked out of the top.

What was going on?

“Well,” Holmes declared, shuffling his feet. “I did not intend to interrupt. I’ll just…”

He backed out of the room, shoulder bumping the doorframe as he retreated. Molly watched, amazed. She had never seen Holmes move so gracelessly, so unsure of himself.

 _They really ARE together_ , she thought in wonder.

“Sorry about that,” Watson cleared his throat and visibly shook himself, turning back to her. “Did— did you have any other questions?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Molly replied. “I mostly just wanted to hear what you thought of it, Professor.”

Watson’s smile was smaller, and his gaze flickered toward the door. “It’s a good draft, Molly, don’t you worry. I think if you make that adjustment with the first couple paragraphs, it’ll be great. And try that article there — but if you don’t end up using it, I won’t be offended.”

She smiled. “Okay. I think that’s everything, then. Thank you so much.”

“Of course. If you have any further questions, or want me to look at another draft, you know where to find me. And don't worry - I know your paper will be just fine. Don't stress.”

Reassured, she grinned at him. “See you in class.”

“Have a good weekend.” Watson smiled, though something about it seemed strained. Perhaps Holmes' sudden appearance...?

Molly snatched up her bag and the journal, then left quickly. Holmes, who had been sitting in one of the chairs that lined the corridor, leaped to his feet. Again, his arm twisted behind his back as if hiding something.

“Miss Hooper,” he cleared his throat.

“Professor,” she nodded politely. “See you Monday.”

“Ah. Yes. Monday.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing anxiously at Watson’s door, and Molly took the hint and turned to leave.

She glanced over her shoulder just a few steps later, and saw him turning to face Watson's door. He took a slow breath, as if psyching himself up. Then, he knocked on the door, slowly pulling the object in his hand into sight. A bouquet of flowers. From his bag — the object he had been trying to hide — protruded the neck of what looked like a wine bottle.

She stepped down the hallway, trying not to squeak in excitement, trying not to listen even as the door to Watson’s office opened again and his voice drifted down the corridor.

“Sherlock, I-”

“Please, John. Just… let me get this out.”

Watson sighed. “Fine. Make it quick.”

Footfalls, then the sound of a chair sliding across tile. Molly was more than halfway down the corridor when she heard it.

“My darling, I-”

But Molly did not hear the rest of Holmes’ sentence. At the sound of the endearment, she had helpfully dropped everything that was in her hands, which happened to be the article Watson had given her, as well as her bag. The latter burst open, scattering paper everywhere. Her ancient pencil bag, the zipper permanently trapped half open, spilled its contents all across the empty corridor.

Molly cursed under her breath and dropped to her knees, first grabbing the article and neatening the corners. As she slipped it into her bag, she heard the voices of her two professors continue. She looked up.

The door to Watson's office hadn't been closed all the way. She could hear everything.

“Don’t try to butter me up. Tell me what you’re here to say.”

A small shifting noise, as if Holmes were shuffling his feet again. “You've been avoiding me.”

“I wonder why.”

“John...”

“What do you want me to say, Sherlock?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, voice low and earnest. “Just... hear me out.”

“Why should I?”

“Please.”

A pause. Molly crawled across the floor, snatching up pens, pencils, and highlighters as slowly as she dared. She knew she shouldn't be listening to this, but she was so curious... she would leave in a few minutes. Yes, if in three... (actually five was a nicer number) five minutes they were still talking, she would leave. Even if they had not confirmed their relationship. Holmes’ visit to Watson's office alone was suspicious enough to confirm things for Molly.

Yes, five minutes at the most.

“That was an important night for me,” Watson said suddenly. “You understand that, don't you?”

“Of course I do. I just-”

“If you're about to make excuses-” Watson snapped.

“I'm not!” Holmes interrupted.

They both stopped talking for a moment, and Molly began to wonder if she should just leave now. But then-

“I know I overreacted. I know I ruined dinner,” Holmes said without warning. His voice was low.

“They're my parents, Sherlock.”

“They shouldn't have been speaking like that. After all, they seem to have accepted that your sister is a lesbian!”

“That's because they've had years to get used to that idea! With me, it’s different.”

They fell silent again. Finally, there was a noise, like Watson shifting in his chair. “Why did you get so upset anyway? I thought you didn't care what people think.”

“I don't,” Holmes' tone was earnest, almost pleading. “I don't usually. But... it disturbed me more than I expected when they made those comments... about _you_. Had they limited their passive aggressive behaviour to just me, I wouldn't have minded.”

He sighed. Molly wondered what he was doing - was he pacing back and forth in the tiny space? Was he perched on the edge of Watson's desk? Was he kneeling at his feet, clutching his hands?

“I wanted to talk to you,” Holmes continued. “I’ve been trying to apologize for days, but… you’ve not responded.”

“I just needed time, Sherlock,” Watson murmured. “I needed to think.”

“About what? About whether or not to continue… this?”

“No, that’s…” He sighed. “That’s not it at all. I only needed time… to process this. I guess I’m not used to the idea of being…”

“Someone who’s difficult to explain to their friends?” Holmes sounded rather derisive. “Someone who is shackled to an arrogant bastard whose only merit is his intelligence, which cannot begin to make up for his flaws?”

“Is that what my father said to you? When I was in the other room with Mum?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does!”

“John-”

“Why didn’t you defend yourself? From what they were saying?”

“Why didn’t you?” Holmes snapped.

A pause. “What?”

Holmes sighed. “You did not say a word in defense, not of me or of yourself. You just let them say those things. Why?”

“You can’t deduce it?” Watson’s laugh was mirthless.

“I’d rather you tell me.”

Watson let out a long breath, and again the chair shifted across the floor. “Listen… My parents are… I've always been their favourite. Harry and I have both known that for years. She's been a bit of a black sheep, and I... well, they're having a harder time wrapping their heads around my sexuality, since it's so new to them, and they've had this idea about me for so long... as the _perfect_ child. So I guess when I saw how they reacted to us, it startled me. I needed space from you to… figure out how I felt about that. But I should have explained that to you, and I’m sorry. I suppose I was just angry with you for how you handled it. I just couldn’t get that image of you yelling… yelling at my _parents_ , out of my head.”

Another silence passed. Molly stood, her belongings finally gathered in her arms. Then, just as she turned to leave, Holmes spoke once more.

“I don't know how to do any of this, John. I've never... you're the first person I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to them. It just— happened. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ruined dinner.”

The longest silence yet followed that speech. Molly dragged the zipper nearly closed on her pencil case and shoved it in her bag. She shouldn't wait; she should leave now and tell Greg what she'd heard. But then-

“And these are part of the apology, I assume?” Watson's voice was inscrutable. Was he still upset? Molly couldn't tell from just his tone.

“Erm, yes. The internet had many interesting ideas about apologizing to one's lover after a fight. These were the less absurd options. Besides, I... I wasn't sure my presence alone would be persuasive enough. Hence, flowers.”

“Bloody hell,” Watson muttered, chuckling. “You are a marvel.”

Holmes didn't reply. He probably wasn't sure what to make of that comment. “I... oh, I also brought this.”

A soft thud, like a bottle being set on a table.

“Is that a Pinot?”

“Yes,” Holmes replied. “The same kind we drank that first night at Angelo's. Remember? Our first case, after class.”

“That stakeout looking for those drug dealers on campus. How could I forget that? Some mad chemistry professor demanding I come with him because I apparently knew the suspect from my massive World History lecture. As if I’d know one student out of two hundred.”

“You still helped solve the case,” Holmes muttered, a little petulant.

Watson chuckled again, low and gentle. “Oh, come over here.”

“... What?”

“Come here, gorgeous.”

There was the sound of movement, then soft laughter. “Perhaps I was overly optimistic about having you meet my parents.”

“Perhaps.”

“I forgive you, by the way, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” Holmes breathed after a pause.

“Do…” Watson cleared his throat. “Do you forgive me?”

“John, please. I brought you flowers and wine. Surely even you can deduce the implication of that.”

They fell silent again, and Molly decided it was time to go. She was practically vibrating out of her own skin in excitement, anyway. So she darted down the hallway away from Watson's office, down the stairs, and out onto the pavement.

Her fingers trembled as she unlocked her phone and found Greg's contact.

 

* * *

 

Greg hadn’t stopped grinning in, oh, at least an hour. He also still was staring down at his phone screen, at his text conversation with Colin specifically. After running into one another at the cafeteria, they had talked for hours until Colin had to head to work. They had, however, exchanged numbers.

The past twenty-four hours were then filled with messages, which had grown increasingly flirtatious. Then, just before Colin had left for an evening class, he’d sent one last message.

_Got class soon, so I’ll talk to you later. But… I was hoping I could take you to dinner sometime?_

Greg had immediately replied _I’d really like that_ and repressed the urge to jump around his bedroom like a smitten grade-schooler.

He was still reveling in the fact that he had a date an hour later, until Molly’s number appeared on the screen.

“Hello?”

“GREG. YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND OUT.”

Her voice shrieked out of the phone, even higher than in real life, and he found himself laughing.

He didn’t know what this was about, but it sounded as if her day had been at least as delightful as his.

He was not to know he would end this conversation jumping around the room, because not only did he have a date, but the mystery of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson was finally solved. 

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who has finals and essay due dates coming up, good luck and hang in there! To everyone who just had finals, I hope you did well!  
> After finishing The Heart of a Pirate, I needed a break from John’s and Sherlock’s POVs, plus this was a great excuse to have some more of Molly and Greg, whom I love :) Hope you liked! 
> 
> Also, Colin is not meant to be anyone in particular (because the way I wrote this, I couldn’t exactly make Mystrade happen without there being a rather substantial age difference).
> 
> Next AU prompt: Roman


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